Gerard
reread the briefs indicating Fennmeister lived two garbage cans down on Torpedo
Row. He knew it was shallow of him, but he didn’t want to take the chance of
soiling the cuffs of his white pants or squeaky reputation. He must prove
Fennmeister was living house here; he didn't deserve a welfare handout. Imagine
pretending that he lived in a garbage can! Only Gerard, Welfare Beagle, could
solve this one. He shook his papers flush and slipped them into the Cambridge
briefcase whose admirable brass nameplate, Gerard Snipes Soames-Welfare Beagle,
had been presented to him by the director.

Torpedo
Street was a shiversome sight, inducing him to open his glove box for the portable
blue can of mace, presenting it to his pocket in the manner of a small firearm.
Thereafter he locked his car, straightened his tie and verified that his
nametag lined up with the white stripe on his left wing-tip.

In
an otherwise perfect sky, an anvil shaped cloud hovered weirdly over Torpedo
street. He gathered his courage recalling how the new welfare recruit had
called him a silly old dinosaur, but who had won this assignment? Gleefully,
he set off, making his way on foot past a tangle of chicken-wire fencing.

“Whatcha
want mister?”

A
heavy-headed child emerged from a cluster of poison ivy, Gerard
recoiled too late from the child’s chocolate covered hand on his white lapel.

Gerard
spread the chocolate, smoothing it across his white tie. “Lovely er, ah, child
you have, ma’am.” When his charming mode had no discernible effect, he tried
another tack. He smiled, baring an excess of blindingly capped dentition.

“Whatsa
matta? Something stuck in your teeth?” The woman had a voice like a foghorn
underwater. “You can quit making them faces, I don’t want nothing you’re
selling. Best not head down thataways. You come near her house, Elvira’s dog’ll
take off your leg.”

“Really?”
he said, reaching to fondle his mace.

A
crack of thunder made his straight white hair stand on end. He read next
mailbox: Elvira Smockler. It was a monstrous house that could have served as
the stage set of a horror movie: half-built rooms hung on the outside like
warts partly covered with mismatched cedar shakes, many of which had fallen
off,scattered on the ivy lawn like rectangular dandruff; shutters nailed over
the windows had streaks of rust underneath each nail like drips of blood; the
lower windows were shuttered, the uppers barred. Branches of a willow swayed in
a nervous wind. One cracked and fall at his feet as he opened the gate.

“Trying
to scare me off, are you?” He yelled at the house, his hand still on the gate.
“Don’t think you can! I’m the Welfare Beagle and I’m on your trail! You can't
expect us to believe Fennmeister lives in your trash.”

The
door to the house opened. Waiting for a hideous creature to emerge, terrified
Gerard Soames trembled so that he almost forgot to greet the vision who,
mumbling some sort of gibberish, stepped out on to the porch.

“Miss
Smockler?” Gerard’s voice squeaked like an adolescent’s. He’d been expecting
Bride of Frankenstein; he’d gotten a pin-up from a mechanics catalogue.

“Yes,
of course.” she said breaking out of her gibberish, extending a hand. “Oh,
bother,” she said, in a mesmerising voice, “It’s raining. You’ll spoil your
suit.” She continued mumbling under her breath in a strange language.

Gerard
looked at his precious ruined suit. “It’s nothing.” He stood on the bottom
step, just beneath the flooding rain gutter, gazing at her. He’d never seen so
much hair on one head.

She was enchanting. He was enchanted.

She
stopped mumbling her melodious phrases, “And you are...?”

“Gerard
Soames.” he replied, blinded by a profusion of glittering earrings. In the
background to the woman’s compelling visage, a large black panther circled,
then entered a huge, hollow tree; and a moment later, a man in an impeccable
black suit came stepping out of the tree. Gerard couldn’t remove his eyes from
the woman. She was . . . .

“You're
the one who sent the letters," she said, then "Fenn, my kitten. We
have a visitor. Before you go, do say hello.” A dog's head pushed the door
open, bumping into her. She wobbled forward, nearly toppling off of very
high-heeled shoes, and out of her very low cut halter top.

Gerard
could move neither eyes or feet. The sleek, black garbed man walked past and
agilely leaped the gate. An Irish Wolfhound the size of a large Shetland pony
pushed it’s way onto the porch.

“Oh
dear,” Gerard heard Elvira say, “My puppy got out.”

“Puppy?”

The
dog opened its mouth, clenching its teeth in a grin. Gerard tripped off the
porch into a puddle, and shoved his way in and out of ivy tangling his feet.
One shoe sucked into the ground. The "puppy" was so close he could
smell sardines on its breath. He grabbed for his emergency mace and shot himself
in the face.

“Aaah!”
He stumbled toward his car. Both of his feet were bare now, his suit was more
brown than white. Thunder roared as he opened his car door.

“Try and fool me!” he yelled.

“Hey
mister, don’t start your car. You ain’t got no tires.”

“You
must think I was born yesterday.” He snarled at the child.

“You
ain’t got no tires, mister, honest.” After wiping his runny nose, the child
dropped the empty mace can in the open window. “Thanks mister. It was fun.
You can come and play any time.”

Get
lost kid.” Gerard said, his pants squishing as he shifted. He couldn’t wait to
get home and think of what to do salvage his reputation and his suit. What
about his shoes? He raced his engine, the child watching, delighted.

“Beat
it!” The Bonneville shuddered. “Why isn't my car moving?”

“Hey
mister, you’re a card!” The child laughed,

Gerard
climbed out and saw his car on concrete blocks. He wanted to cry, but instead
walked to one of his shoes and then inexplicably on to Elvira’s house. She was
on her porch waiting with what was left of his other shoe.

“I
knew you’d be back,” she said, hooking him with long eyes holding dark
mysteries and sweeter covenant. “I've never seen anyone so in need of a little
magic. Come, my pet, my dear little bird man, or is it beagle?” As she held
out the remains of his sole, he could feel something new spiraling from his
belly, filling his heart, his head.